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He that is without sin among- yon let him first cast a stone at her."' 
/ St. John Vl/I, 1. 




SAN FRANCISCO, 
1876. 






Enten.l aiconliiiu to tho Act of Coiii-rcss in the roar 1S7(), l-y 

/aVAUU WiLMSlIUUST, 

In thu OfficL- of tho l-ibrarian of C'oiii;russ, at Washington. 



To yvLL 



WHO LOVE AND PRACTICE 



Truth and Purity 



AND HATE AND ESCHEW 



' 'Falsehood and Hypocrisy, 



7Hi3 ]^0E]V1 



IS CORDIALLY AND RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY 



THE AUTHOR 



j;^^'f;j^Tl^t- 



It is my dut}' to guard the reader against any misapprehension 
of the resemblance to a certain eminent divine, whicli some may 
trace in one of the principal figures of this jjoem. I admit that 
the bright side of the character was suggested by that most elo- 
quent, fearless, effective and devoted champion of religion, truth, 
progress and his country; but its dark side, or that which by the 
testimony of another is made to seem dark, bears" no resemblance 
to him at all in sentiment, manner or incident. Its aspect of real 
or imputed guilt is indeed as opposite to him in spirit, experience, 
fact and lineament, as heaven is diverse from the eternal home ol 
the lost. The figure is, however, not so much a creation of my own 
imagination as it is the embodiment of a phantasy that has long 
filled the public mind, in which the divine attributes are those of the 
greatest preacher of the age, but the Satanic, the product of the 
false coloring in which his enemies, persecutors and slanderers have 
so lavishly indulged. The strange combination forms a stupendous 
monster, which, in bold contrast of light and shade, infinitely trans- 
cends Milton's archangelic outcast hero, and is so well adapted 
to epic poetry that I could not resist the temptation to attempt its 
delineation in verse. 

The brief sketch ol another figure introduced may also be taken 
to represent an actual personage, whom it does not however at all 
portray, for even the defendant in the memorable trial which es- 
tablished the innocence of the accused and cleared his immortal 
reputation from stain, will, I think, justify my belief that the plain- 
tiff^ the party in question, although possessed of brilliant talents 
and eccentric genius, is at once too immethodical, self-respecting 
and upright to deliberately concoct an evil conspiracy, and that, 
in making his suicidal assault upon his warmest friend and great- 
est benefactor, he was impelled by a mania or hallucination of 



wliicli he was unfortunately tlie victim, and which, for baselessness 
and obstinacy has a striking parallel in that of Leontis, in Shake- 
speare's Winter's Tale. But hallucination is not confined to him. 
How far it is carried and how sincerely it is believed, none but 
they who are familiar with extreme cases can have any adequate 
idea. The poem illustrates this subject and will thus throw light 
on the mystery which has often embarrassed and misled the public 
judgment. 

Still more important is the truth which is gradually gaining- 
ground, that no one is so well prepared to resist and subdue temp- 
tation as he ^yho already knows the full extent of its most attractive 
and sensual delusions. I have, for this reason, long believed that 
a poem, presenting, in the first place, the utmost possible attrac- 
tions of the charms of sense, and giving, in the second, the reverse 
of the picture, the agonizing and interminable .remorse, the utter 
hopelessness and complete prostration which are the rank and ter- 
rible consequences of sinful sensual indulgence, would be more 
conducive to our strength to withstand and dissolve the spells of 
evil than many thousand sermons. For 

" Ignorance is the curse of God; 
Knowledge the wing with which we fly to heaven." 

I have long tried to compose and complete this poem, but not 
until the events transpired which have fixed the attention of man- 
kind upon the subject, iiavo I felt myself able to impart to it a 
vital interest likely to render its lessons readable and impressive. 
Shallow and timid moralists will, perhaps, question the expediency 
of my course, but the most enliglitened and eminent members of 
the medical, legal and clerical professions, whose opportunities of 
observation and of lor.ning a judgment, enable them to draw in- 
telligent and just conclusions on matters of this kind, Avill, I am 
assured, justify the intention and approve the tendency of my 
essay. 

THE AUTHOE. 



THE HINT. 

What is the terror of our race? 

What do our best and bravest flee? 
From what do all avert their face, 

And almost turn to stone to see? 
Although more harmless than the dead, 

Than Death himself more shunned by far, 
What is this Gorgon? — Tis the dread 

Of seeming what we really are. 
Be what they may, men always plot 
To seem the thing that they are not. 
And from themselves to hide themselves 
No mole beneath more darkly delves : 
Even to'God, who hears their prayer, 
They mask themselves with pious air, 
Nor frankly stand upon their level 
To saint or sinner save — the devil : 
Him to deceive no mortal weens — 
He is too much behind the scenes, 
And mirrors faithfully to pride 
The truth man lives and dies to hide. 



II. 



Preachers draw Virtue passing fair, 
And Sin with such abhorrent air 
That novices, by looks misled, 
The showy wanton woo and wed ; 
For in the proof we And that Sin 
At first has greater charms to win 
Each glowing sense a thousand fold 
Than Virtue, pure, austere and cold : 



Sin smiling comes, with open arms., 
To make youth scorn the sage alarms 
Precept instills, for she appears 
Just opposite to all his fears — 
So jovial, genial, happy, free, 
Born but for sweetness, like the bee. 
What wonder mortals unprepared 
Are by her witchery ensnared, 
Or that her veriest dupes and tools 
Are these same learned rev'rend fools. 
Who cannot see in sense the rod 
That rules the world in spite of God, 
Whose spell creates desire and starts 
Its flood of fire through human hearts, 
And wakens even sin's affright 
At passion's leap and torrent might! 

III. 

Oh, why not draw the picture true, 
Give flesh and sensuousness their due, 
And let the novice know the most 
That sense and sin and Satan boast, 
All their enticements fairly tell — 
The secret of their charms dispel — 
And from their baits the honey wring 
To show their cost and curse and stin<>:? 

ly. 

The enemy to underrate 

Still proves the fall of man and state. 

Who knows where Sin's enchantment lies 

She cannot capture by surprise: 

Ever through ignorance the maid 

And ne'er through knowledge is betrayed: 

For there is not a worse defense 

Than blind and simple ignorance. 

Nor adamantine panoply, 

Save knowledge for her chastity. 



V. 



The innocence of angels flows 

From wisdom boundless as their days, 
Which hell's horrific secrets knows 

And heaven's lore of love and praise; 
Such innocence, alone secure 

Through all temptation to endure, 
I make to guileless souls a tower 
Which mocks both Sin and Satan's powei 
This is the moral of my tale; 

Against its scathing truth 
And saint-defying ruth 
The gates of hell shall not prevail. 



THE SIK/EHSr. 

PAET FIRST. 

AGLAOPHEME. 



I. 

He met her in the darkening street, 

He caught the kindling look she cast, 
And heard her siren lips repeat 

Two words of music as she passed : 
The tone was feigned and false the smile, 

In venal mockery of love. 
Intent as Satan to beguile, 

And still seem harmless as the dove : 
And though he must have known as much — 
At least he must have known that such 
As vend their love at venal rate 
Hide something in it worse than hate — 
Despite his knowledge and the voice 
Of conscience firm against his choice. 
The tone and glance shot through his Irame, 
And slew his virtue and his shame. 
He paused — turned hack : he felt abased 
Beneath the wretch whose want or waste 
Bartered her earthly, heavenly worth 
For tinsel trash and glittering earth. 
The agony of something good 
Dying within bim, chafed his mood : 
Passion burned hotter for the check : 
The reins dropped o'er its flaming neck, 
And straight it took the road to hell 
Which none but Satan knew as well. 



II. 



The form that ghded on before 

Elasticly as angels tread 
The cloudy path to heaven's door — 

Although, alas I it elsewhere led — 
Seemed lighter than a happy thought, 
Fairer than lover fancies aught 
Where all is fair, and softer much 
Than infant's kiss or zephyr's touch : 
Though clad in tasteful modest guise, 
Through all the round voluptuous rise 
Of beauty bragged of that concealed 
More proudly than of aught revealed: 
But, oh ! a nameless something — more 
Than words can render — hovered o'er 
Each gesture and around the whole — 
An atmosphere — a sense the soul 
Gives forth when beautiful or great, 
Though fallen from its high estate, 
Which tells, despite its moral death 
What once it was and whence its breath. 

III. 

She knew the victim who had swallowed 

Her smiling bait and hook. 
Like an enchanted captive followed, 

But did not turn to look. 
Or slacken aught her even pace 
Till he had won his needless race; 
Nor even then her face would turn 
But with a listless unconcern, 

As though her husband or her brother 
Proffered the arm on which the bland 
Touch of her almost baby hand 

Rested as she raised the other, 
And drew the veil her features o'er, 
But not to hide the blush they wore ; 



10 



For shame was dead and could not rise 
In sweet confusion to her eyes, 
To act a wilful babbler's part 
And show the color of her heart. 



IV 



Together from the crowded street 

The guilty pair have turned aside 
Where closer, murkier shadows meet, 

And, like the wings of Satan, hide 
The ugly bargaining of lust 
From scornful light and the disgust 
The vilest feel when it displays 
Their evils naked to their gaze: 
For sin is that ohl basilisk 

Who strikes the gazer dread, 
But if a steadfast look she risk 

At self — she too is sped 



Low was the tone as for his own 

And not another's ear, 
And yet to her has surely flown- 

Who started as in fear — 
In fear ? Oh no ! that bursting glance 
Which spread the pupil, was the dance 
Of joy and filled her vacant trance 
As lightning darkness with its light, 
But sank as soon in second night. 
A calm gay tone to his replied 
Which laughed sincerely when it sighed- 
" Pardon, dear youth, my foolish start : 

Sure I did think that man or devil 
Could never more have made this heart 

Beat quicker at the thought of evil : 
But lewdness wild this — 'tis more 
Than I could ever dream before ! 
I thought myself the tempter here. 



11 



But find I am the victim still 
Yet wert thou e'en the Prince of 111, 
Thou shouldst not see me blanched with fear 
Or vanquished by thy wanton skill 
To beggar Nature's depths to fish 
The spiciest dainty from her dish 
And kill with sweetest poison every wish. 



Still let me hold that doubt as dear 
That all this murkiness will clear, 
And leave our minds a spotless page 
On which to trace a pilgrimage 
To that fair altar, Heaven- designed, 
The sweetest e'er in flesh enshrined, 
At which the guiltiest, kneeling, pause. 
This then is thy conceit : Because 
I gave my love in vain, I must 
Remunerate myself with lust, 
And ever eat the serpent's dust — 
That shame, like mine, in no recess 
Can hide but utter shamelessness — 
That heaven cannot still my care 
So well and surely as despair. 



" But this is preaching — say, amen ! 

For, lo ! the lioness's den 

Now frowns upon you — at my touch 

It yawns — but all is darkness — clutch 

My hand — Oh, that you should have sought her 

Who leads you, like a lamb, to slaughter, 

Nor know no morsel would reveal 

You had but made her evening meal." 



12 

VI. 

Another door was opened now, 

Which let upon the thorough gloom, 
A sudden, lull and dazzling glow, 

As if the light had burst the room. 
Both raised their hands against the blaze, 

Which fell upon the orbs of sight, 
And back one started in amaze 

At all discovered by the light: — 
A chamber high as palace halls, 

And gorgeous as their pageantry, 
With master pieces thronged like walls 

Erected to some deity, 
(When grace to man was bought and sold 
As harlot's love, with gifts and gold,) 
All wildly beaming, 
As fairy's dreaming 
Shone there before him palpably: 
The softness of the houri's home 
In perfume rose from floor to dome 

And caught the senses daintily : 
The painter had with colors warm 

Given to all a loving grace ; 
The sculptor too, in every form, 

Had breathed a longing to embrace : 
And velvet couches ready stood 

To welcome any tender pair 
With softness yeildiEg as the mood 
Of such as wished to nestle there. 
But what were these — or what were they, 
The lightest gossamers that i^lay 
Upon the air — the softest down 
That on a cygnet yet hath grown — 
The bosom of a lover meeting 

A lover's in a dream — the doves 
Of Venus in alarm retreating 

For shelter to her breast — the loves 
Of nymphs and naiads — things too tender 



13 



To bear the day's ungentle splendor — 
The maiden's longing for a kiss, 
She coys withal — the lap of bliss — 
All, all besides, to senses kind, 

Which makes delight delight to wed, 
Naught, naught to all that Here combined 
That Sin might find 

Her heaven in a wanton's bed. 

YII. 

She found it not — oh, no ! be sure 
She dare not stain those vestal sheets 
With even love's tumultuous sweets, 

Eor angels kept their whiteness pure — 

Pure as thy thoughts, — Oh, censor stern ! 

Which beauty never taught to burn : 

The tree of life — eternal bliss 

Had not more jealous guard than this 

At which vice only shot to miss. 

Voluptuous, fragrant, heaving, soft, 

It promised (promise kept too oft!) 
That limbs of royal daintiness. 

Rounded exquisitely and glowing 

Like light, and fair as snow while snowing, 
Whose look or touch would more than bless, 

Should slumber or should revel there 
In ecstasy of fond excess, 

More melting than the dews, 

Than sweetness sweeter, deeper than despair. 

But not in wickedness ? Oh, no ! in prayer, 
The only might which God subdues. 

VIII. 

For he espied a strange illusion 
Which shamed this sensuous profusion: 
Dim-curtained in the farthest nook, 
And solemn as the Holy Book, 



14 



An alter rose serene. 
Was it but painting ? was it real ? 
It seemed to set a hallowed seal 

On that luxurious scene, 
And say — "So far the wild waves flow 
But never, never farther go ! " 
For by that Saviour-bearing rood. — 

And martyred love on high, 
The ice of chasteness through the blood 
Here strikes the panting soul with awe, 
Bows both the haughty heart and knee 
To that incarnate mystery, 
Makes meek the will to sacred law, 

And all but pureness die. 

IX. 

" Though art afraid; but 'tis too late: 
Come, be a man, and brave thy fate; 
Enter! " she cried, and from her hand 
A push fulfilled her own command, 
The swelling carpet sank as mute 
As moss beneath a fairy's foot: 

Albeit he stumbled in and fell. 
There had been naught at all 

To sing his fall. 
Except the sighing of a lute 

Against the wall — 

But for the laughter 

Ringing thereafter 

As sweet and musical. 
And also his that pealed as well. 



X. 



" Pardon," she cried,'' my hasty motion! 

It had been well to stoop with grace, 
And make a show of some devotion 

On entering this holy place, 



15 



But you have capped the pious notion 

By falling iiat upon your face. 
You might have waited — What! no bones 
Broken, I hope? a pile of stones, 
Instead of pile like this, had taught 
You better far that where you ought 
To go you were not going when 
You fell, but 'tis the way with men — 
All warning's treated with a smile 
Till naught is left worth warning's while. 

XI. 

" How you stare ! what you see is earth, 

Not air — 'tis bought and paid for too 
With more than it was ever worth; 

And yet it does not cheat your view 
In cost or value: 'tis the price 

My soul and body brought — nay, more, 
My God and God's own paradise 
For this I sold, and for the vice. 

License and rapture of — deplore 
I still the impious sacrifice? 

XII. 

** What I have gained I richly merit, 

Who was as an unthrifty heir, 
Without the patience to inherit, 

But must enjoy it then and there. 
My heavenly patrimony cost 

The devel but a paltry sum : 
For present pleasure I have lost 

My title to all bliss to come: 
I could not wait that distant day. 

While my young heart was wildly burning 
For love or joy which might allay 

Its inextinguishable yearning 
An instant ; for, however brief, 



16 



To such a heart as mine I say 
Eelief is still a blest relief. 

Eor I must love and lavish love; 
I must caress and be caressed; 

My heart must to another's move; 
My lips be to another's pressed; 
And all my life an others wed 
Or I am like a thing that's dead — 
A body with so dull a soul 
As would not scare a hungry goul. 

XII. 

" What shall she do, of joys bereft, 

Whose hope and hold on high are cleft, 

When yet the sweetest joy is left ? 

As heaven cannot be her store, 

Were she not fool than ever more 

If she for conscience aught forbore. 

The tempter asks why aught is hidden, 

Why what is sweetest is forbidden, 

Unless to add a secret zest 

And make the lover doubly blest. 

The lost demands with reckless glee — 

(This is my darling heresy) — 

Were it not wise my soul to steep 

As deep in joy as hell is deep, 

And give my life in every kiss, 

And did a thousand times of bliss — 

The God of love in act adore, 

Although cast off forevermore ? 

Who says I shall have vainly striven ? 

Who loves so mucn should be forgiven, 

For Heaven is love, and though they roam, 

At last she takes her children home. 

XIII. 

*' What light is sparkling in thine eyes ? 
What trembles to thy fingers' tips. 



17 



Why does thy breathing turn to siglis, 
And color change on cheek and lips ? 

Impatient pilgrim dost thou see 

At last enshrined thy deitys 

Here is his mystery confessed, 
In Nature's mutual overflow 

Of worship in her holiest nest, — 
Her Maker's inmost shrine below ? 

Can passion thus "with worship blend. 

And thus thy bosom rapture rend, 

Before thy holy journey's end ? 

A fire is in thy veins — a fire 

Which in love's billows will expire. 

Oh, what a curse it is that this 

Should be as transient as a kiss! 

Why let it not outlast the sun. 

When souls unite and two are one ? 

XIY. 

Thou know'st me not — this sable veil 
Shadows my face like twihght gloom, 

Nor canst thou tell if here prevail 
The tints of art or nature's bloom; 

Nor will I hint — but in our play, 

Kiss, if thou canst, those tints away. 

Then nearer come and nearer still — 

If less of life my glances fill, 

Or if they vary less their fire 

From languishment to keen desire, — 

From total absence of control, 

When body, mind and heart and soul 

Are given over to delight, 

Still clinging with their utmost might 

To that unutterably dear 

Which near they draw — ah! yet more near- 

As hermit in ecstatic prayer, 

Brings heaven down and clasps it there : — 

If to thy close and prying sight, 



18 



One speck distains the red and wliite 

Spread on my cheeks by Him above, 

Or say by nature, health and love — 

If pales the ruby of my lip 

AVhen thou shall: press and thou shalt sip, 

Or fails the sweetness of its dew, 

Or love-sick fragrance sighing through — 

If on the brink of wanton waste, 

I keep not pure and fresh and chaste. 

Then mak<^ my wishes void and vain, 

And spurn me from thee with disdain. 

XV. 

"Eut, ah ! thou say est we have need 

Of nothing more than nature^s dress 
And bed of down, to do this deed, — 
To celebrate this ancient rite. 
To prove both laitli and virtue's might, 
So sacred with the Adamite, — 

Misdeemed enchanting wickedness — 
That we must render baclt to art 

All, all she gave to hide our shame. 
Meet flesh to flesh and heart to heart, 
Like those whom God alone can part 

Whose spirits hunger — thirst to bless — 

Give all they can and take the same, 

Yet shrink from grorssness, guilt or blame. 
What ! no reserve? all, all, to you? 

And what I have you know not yet — 
Limbs as symmetrically true 

As culling sculptor ever met; 
Smooth and white as his marble, too- 

AVith the highest polish on it set. 
And through their whiteness shining full, 

Life soft and springing to the touch. 
And every motion musical. 

And — and — but I have said too much — 
And yet to stint the praises due 

To him who made them were but pelf; 



19 

I hardly marked tlieni as thoy grew, 

And claim no merit for myself: 

I do not speak of tliem to tliee 

From idleness or vanity, 
But that the flame with which I burn, 
May meet as ardent in return, — 

In prayer's seraphic rivalry. 

XVI. 

These hands of mine will dare to grasp — 

Yet tenderly — thy manly form — 
These arms of roundness, they will clasp 

Thee where my heart and love are warm : 
Ah ! to my bosom — -there were swelling 

With pride to lind it all his own, 
Young Love hath made his loveliest dwelling, 

And built his panting, double throne 
Of glowing snow : — each little hill 
Sweet milk and full affection fill 
To perfect roundness ; and each head 
From love's own lips is tinted red. 
And 'tis, I ween. 
To lie between 

Man's softest, sweetest bed. 
Ah ! there awhile delighted rest. 
And OAvn thyself completely blest ! 

But ere thou sin, let both be dead : 
Albeit there a stranger guest, 
As infant on fond mother's breast, 
Be thou of only innocence possessed. 

XVII. 

*^ All words are meagre, dry and dull 
That strive to speak unspeakable 
Delight — delight too dear and deep — 

Too maddeningly full — 

Too wild and exquisitely thrilling — 



20 



Too lost to all — too sweetly killing 

To thought or care of time and earth — 

Too near the core aught to behoove 
But the glad pulses' quiv'ring leap, 
The heart's deep throbbing mirth, 

Soul-wasting rapture and the love 
O'er gushing with all-joyious sweep, 

So eager with its quickened breath, 
All, all to give and naught to keep — 

Give ever, though to challenge Death 
And sleep his endless sleep ! 

XVIII. 

"That two can clasp and wholly touch, 
Like twins ere birth or guile is known, 
With pressure sweet as Venus' zone. 
And in love's gentleness and might, 
Hallowed by God's own nuptial right, 
Feel so kind and give so much — 
Delighted be to give delight 
And almost feel their souls unite, 
But ne'er so close together get — 
While rising to the Infinite, 
Where love with bliss is ever lit, 
Not e'er to struggle closer yet 
To that perfection he hath set, 
As rapture's goal 
To every soul : 
That on her part she can resign 
What was more sacred than a shrine 
To which e'en thought durst not refer — 
More than inviolate to her — 
That she so melted by her love — 
So lost to all below, above — 
Save him alone, her all can lavish, 
Holily kept for him to ravish. 
And of her treasure all bereft, 
Can love him better for the theft, 



21 

Predestiued but to woo the fate 
Her gentle senses deprecate, 
And nightly delicacy kill, 
That whom she loves may take his fill, 
Making her tenderness his pillow, 
Her murmured modesty as well, 
Her passion swelling like a billow, 

Whose depths no reckoning can tell ; 
Feeling — ah, yes, a secret gladness 

That what she loved to hide and cherish, 

Her lover revels in to madness, 

And would so still, though she should perish 

Yet purer grow in love and trust 

Till all is angel, even dust : 

If there is joy or sweet in life — 

Hope, heaven for man— then call it wife. 

That this— all this can be so true, 

Within the reach of each of you — 

Of all the blessings God hath given. 

It is the sweetest out of Heaven — 

Of all his miracles below. 

The strangest, greatest that I know. . 

XIX. 

" So vast is love and so divine I 

Can thine be such V And such be mine ? 

One moment — yes, one moment o'er, 

And love to learn has^ittle more ! 

For like a martyr at the stake 

Who sees the Heavens o'er him break 

And angels coming down, 
Breathless suspense will clasp its own — 
And with excess of rapture groan — 
And every nerve vibrate with glee, 
Like the harp-string's sweet ecstasy, 

To reap bUss God hath sown. 



22 

XX. 

" Perchance — nay, certain 'tis perdition, 
Yet as the lost are nought but free 
To challenge every penalty, 
Then so much dearer still to me ; 
Since thou desirest no partition 

May sever me from thee — 
While thou, yon marble bath within, 
Divestest with the haste to sin, 
Yet not to sin, but let love's heat 
Dissolve thy life in worship meet, 
I to the other I will repair, 
Forgetting 'tis not Eden there, ' 
Shy nature of her screen bereave, 
And make myself another Eve, 
To tempt another Adam, too. 
With fruit as sweet as that which grew 
By Jove's permission to entice 
Mankind to forfeit paradise, 
Yet not to lose, but for us twain 
A sweeter paradise regain." 

XXI. 

She said, and waved her little glove, 
Looking half mischief and half love, 
And disappeared, The gilded door 
Closed softly, and for ever more 
He feared — and tried to open, bat, 
Firm as a rock, he found it shut. 
He paused — he listened — he retired. 
And did as he had been desired. 
Back he came into the hall — 
Lo ! a figure strong and tall, 

Amidst a blaze of light. 
Stood against the dazzling wall. 

It stared at him. 

As though he were a spright, 



23 



And yet betrayed no fear ; 
Naked it was — more wild than grim, 

Without a stain— without a flaw — 
Of mighty chest — of giant limb — 

He looked, but in a mirror clear — 

It was himself he saw. 

XXII. 

At length he knocked and called at last, 

But all was still as death 
Which many ages have o'erpast, 
Sleeping in some desert night, 

Except his own thick breath. 
He schooled himself as best he might; 
He waited long and deemed it longer, 
As his impatience grew the stronger. 

XXIII. 

Oh, when — when will that sturdy door, 
Upon its silent hinges turning, 

To his fierce eagerness give o'er 

That naked form with blushes burning 

With every charm about it thronging 

To satisfy and kindle longing. 

Now dearer to his wishes even 

Than entrance would be into Heaven? 

XXIV. 

Upon a couch his length he cast — 
Buried his head within his hands — 

Like water shaken by the blast, 
Or rippling ocean on the sands, 

Course after course convulsion took. 

And to his very centre shook. 



24 

XXV. 

Lost save to hearing so intense, 

What was that fairy din ? 
As suddenly he turned about 
As though it were a battle^shout ; 
And there — how came she there ? She stood, 
Too beautiful for flesh and blood, 
Upon a dais for a shrine, 

And to a pagan's sense, 
Had seemed a presence so divine 

That not to kneel were sin. 

XXVI. 

A veil of shining silk in part 

The beauty of her face concealed, 

The rest was naked as the heart 
Of man is to his God revealed ; 

And beautiful ! and there was not 

In her complexion shade or spot 

To mar its perfect white, or dim 

The lustre of each graceful limb : 

Nor was there where from head to heel 

Perfection had not set his seal ; 

Full, bright, transparent, soft and pure. 

And swelling to each curvature, 

Like young affection ere the d nines s 

Of earthly chillings checks its fulness. 

XXVII. 

Her sloping neck in clusters bore 

Her golden hair — all brightly curling 
Like folded light — here closely furling 

Shy-infant curls — and there like ore 
Or virgin gold, in wreaths they fell, 
Heavy and thick, and twisted like a spell. 






25 
XXVIII, 

So sweetl}^ moved her lovely head 

Upon her graceful neck, 
That every turn some beauty bred 
Which grace before had never shed, 

The fittest yet to deck ! 
And still a dangerous commotion, 

More dang( rous than the stormest sea. 

Within her bosom seemed to be — 
The billows of love's little ocean 

Were heaving high and heavenly — 
The fcoul of softness made his lair. 
And love-sick rapture rested there ; 
And had the sternest man surveyed, 

Soft as an infant he had felt — 
The holiest saint that ever prayed 

Like wax had found his virtue melt. 

XXIX. 

Her rounded leg of perfect mold, 
Outlined so delicately bold. 
Still curving full to fullest round 
And taper exquisite to bound 
Of slimness next the tiny feet. 
White as lilies and as sweet. 

XXX. 

Her arms, like drifts of snow, disposing 

Themselves with such a languid grace, 
Bound as a serpent, and enclosing 

As fatally in their embrace : 
( For violence, howe'er refined 
But kills the body not the mind. 
While luxury with silken thrall. 
Drags down the body, soul and all : ) 
They seemed but made to gently press 



26 



Heart to heart with dear caress 
Till botli be but a mutual heart 
Henceforth unfit to beat apart : 

Their yielding compass, velvet palm 
With dreamy contact light and fond 

(Though soft as that celestial balm 
Which sinks like dew the spirit o'er, 

That just hath 'scaped the burning stake, 

Which it endured for Jesus' sake, 
And breathless stands it God before) — 
Held love to love with strength beyond 
The might of death's eternal bond. 

XXXI. 

With eager hands, lest she should vanish — 
Not as before, but ever banish 
Herself from him — and trembling pace 
The youth advanced — from off her face 
She tore her veil, and he beheld 
Charms on earth unparalleled. 

XXXII. 

Like Eden's lightning flashed her eyes, 

Large, tender and more fathomless 
And blue than ever were its skies : 

Oh, they could blast and they could bless, 
In anger or in love, as light 
From sun and cloud can bless and blight: 
The dawning day of mildest Spring — 
The long-draw^n close of evening — 
The fairest star that shines aloft 
At home enthroned in ether blue — 
The rays that weave the lilies hue — 
The mellowest beam that ever flew — 
Ne'er shone more tender, pure and soft, 
More mildly burned or told so oft 
Or so profoundly of the feeling 



27 



Unfathomable — still revealing 
The fountain's infinite supply 
Of love that vrould not, could not die : 

Still freshly pure and more and more 

And ever kindlier than before — 

As if its everlasting play 

Swept all the lees of love away, 

Or better yet, as if the flood 

Eose high and higher still to God. 

XXXIII. 

Fair, broad and high, her forehead rose, 
And arched and dark her eyebrows were 

The Grecian strictness of her nose, 
And chin, and lips, had given an air 

Of formal calmness to her features, 
But that each passion which bestirs 

The hearts and minds of human creatures. 
In turn looked from that face of hers, 

The color to her cheek that stole 
Was like the spirit of a rose — 
Was not the hue mere health bestows, 
Which with it fades and with it glows, 

But was the fervor of her spright 

Swelling, rising into light. 

The roseate of her soul. 

XXXIV. 

Her lips were of the rubiest red — 
Much softer they than Cupid's bed 
And lovelier than his bow — 
Pouting in their lusciousness, 
Half she wished their sweetness dead. 
Kissing never rendered less 

But gave more honeyed flow : 
For who had tasted, till she flung 
Them backward, like an infant clung ; 



28 



For still tlieir sweetness sweeter grew, 
As if life's nectar flowed thereto — 
At every pressure, fresher, dearer, 
And to the heart vibrating nearer. 

XXXV. 

A sudden smile of witchery 

From lips, and eyes, and dimpled cheek. 

Looked with the light of gayety. 

By far too lull of joy to speak, 

As if Delight had broke her chain, 

And was the queen of earth again, 

And over all should ever reign. 

XXX n. 

Exultingly beneath that look, 

Albeit not a whit dissembled, 
Eevenge, like rousing adder, shook, 

And even if its rapture trembled. 
That smile is gone and as it fled 
Hah ! what a look grows there instead ! 
He started — for he knew her well. 
Oh ! how his fearful visage fell, 
As he stood there, transfixed and blank, 
While heart and soul like water sank ; 
Her sneer all witheringly curled 

With pity wholly pitiless, 
And from her eyes a bolt was hurled, 
Which, had it crushed, 

Had but relieved the keen distress 
Of shame which redly rushed 
And painfully his forehead o'er, 
Then cast him pale upon the floor. 

XXXVII. 

No warrior o'er his prostrate foe, 
Not Michael binding him below, 



29 



Not Satan's self, should he obtain 
O'er heaven wide the right to reign, 
Could so triumphant or so high — 
Oppressed by either roof or sky — 
Look as she did, that naked wretch 

In awful loveliness of form, 
Whose arms for lightning seemed to stretch 

To crush him like a worm ! 
Joy, scorn, revenge and madness rung 
In every accent of her topgue, 

Like music in a storm. 



PAET SECOND. 
I. 

*' Oh saint ! oh saint of saints!" she cried 

" Of whom the godly were so vain — 
Say, are you fallen from your pride 

Or only at your prayers again? 
Be not ashamed — if saint can be 

Ashamed — of what you wished to do ; 
No member of your church can see 

These walls of ancient thickness through 
And if he could, he might in turn, 
Tell what you will be glad to learn — 
Besides your saintship, hither creep 
The very shepherds of the sheep. 
Be not dismaj^ed, for I can tell 
You how to cheat both heaven and hell : 
They taught me how, these holy men, 
For man must sin and sin again. 
Lest growing righteous over-much, 
His Babel's top the heavens touch — 
Lest rival holiness in him. 
E'en the atonement's glory dim. 

II. 

'* May I not preach? who can so well 
The way of sin and sinners tell? 
So well indeed that I suspect 
I must be one of the elect: 
Though ever guilty of abuse, 
I never wanted an excuse — 



31 

Or motive harmless as sweet day, 
Or scripture pointing any way ; 
Or if I did, I did not want, 
To make it good, a world of cant. 

III. 

'' What; yon a saint and lack the skill 
To cheat the very prince of ill? 
To be by him and weakness tempted 
Until his longest purse be emptied, 
And then repent? a saint I and lack 
The wit to prove that white is black 
And black is white ? that here you came 
To lecture me upon my shame. 
Or to discover at- the worst, 
It was predestined from the first ! 
Though each should be a different story. 
All work together for your glory. 

IV. 

'' All this and more get up and say — 
Kneel not to fiesh and blood I pray I 
To flesh and blood from which a saint 

Once turned away in holy scorn, 
Though then they were without the taint 

Which to my very soul hath worn. 
Oh God ! 'tis strange, most strange ! that thou 
Who spurn'd'st me then, shouldst seek me now ! 
Me whom thou couldst not e'en endure 
When guileless, guiltless, fresh and pure 
As is the rose bud ere it heaves 
Its crimson crest beyond the leaves 
Of verdant coolness light to seek, 
Or snow upon the highest peak 
Which almost kisses heaven's cheek : 
As if I needed not a grace 
Of mind, complexion, figure, face, 



32 

But only that I now possess — 

A laughing devil, 
The fulsome charm of sinfulness 

Delirious with daily revel. 



" I loved you once — adored — I deemed 
You were all angel as you seemed: 
I went to worship it is true, 
Though not my God, alas ! but you ; 
And were all candidly confessed, 
I should but count among the rest : 
For age and wisdom owned your worth, 
And as a pattern gave you forth, 
To guide us, like a star, above — 
It could not be a sin to love, 
Yet 1 hung backward in that press 
Of many a fond idolatress. 



VI. 



" Pious, yet manly was the grace 
With which you took your wonted place. 
And bowing meekly as you did. 
All save your shining ringlets hid. 
And then arose with such an air 

As is of peace supernal given — 
As if that brief and simple prayer 

Had bathed your very soul in heaven. 
You joined in the responses, — I 
In spirit only durst reply, 
^i^olemn yet cheerful, deep yet clear, 
Like blended joy and holy fear. 
Or angels song to mortal ear, 
Midst many murmurs yours I heard. 
And drank, heart deep, each holy word; 
But when the anthem woke the aisle. 
And swelled until it shook the pile, 



33 



And you, with voice of liquid tone, 
As if it flowed from music's throne, 
And carried majesty along 
Upon the rapturous waves ol song, 
Gave forth the sweetness of your soul, 
Through mazes of delight to roll, 
I stood — the past and future spent — 
All, but present ravishment. 

VIL 

" The service o'er, you looked dismayed, 
As from a lovely vision roused. 

Or severed from a beauteous maid, 
To whom you were but just espoused : 

And this I loved — this constancy, 

Sublimer than eternity. 



When holy meetings for the good 
Of distant continents convened. 
Above the saintiiest you stood 
In speech and prayer so fully gifted, 
Above the earth so fully lifted, 

A peerless champion 

As ever won 
A combat with the fiend. 

* * :jc * 

* * * * 

VIII. 

"At the feast of bread and wine — 

The table of the Lord, — 
Divineness present in a sign 

Is broken and is poured, 
And lips their Maker seem to kiss — 
If aught is holy, surely this: 
No stripling angel first drew nigh 



34 



The lightning throne of the Most High, 
With more of love and loving fear, 
Or left with dizziness more dear 
Of mingled gladnesses of heart, 

Than seemed — ay, seemed this saintly one 
To seek the altar and depart — 

So meekly and contritely kneeling, 
Rising beatified, 

And overflowed with feeling, 
Gushing from heaven like a tide — 

Oh ! perfect, matchless seeming ! 
Saw I not now with mine own eyes — 

Could I not stamp upon 
The father of these silent lies, 

I could not doubt that I am dreaming. 



IX. 



" They offered me the holy bread — 
I shuddered at the very thought, 
And turned aside my guilty head, 
And wept devoutly as T ought : 
And did of many things repent, 
Albeit yet most innocent, 
A guileless, free and buoyant thing, 
With heart forever on the wing — 
Now bathed in dews of gentle sadness 
And now in rays of laughing gladness; 
Controlled by that which mocks control 
And makes the world through seasons roll 
Beneath the ripple and the gleam, 
Th9 steady current of the stream 
Held on forever to the main 
Of passion boundless, deep and vain. 

X. 

" As sister angels feel for us, 
I loved but was not amorous. 



35 



My father — brother — both were dead; 
My mother stood not in their stead, 
For she was weak as they were strong, 
And floated with the world along — 
As fond, as easily beguiled. 
And almost timid as a child; 
On self, she never durst depend. 
But ever on the showiest friend. 
Young as I was, she clung to me, 
O'erawed by my wild energy. 
To you my heart confiding turned 

For guidance and for light, 
And freely, purely, softly burned 

Torward you as lovers 
Of some pale anchorite 

Whose presence o'er him hovers 
With gleams of angels' flight; 
I spoke my heart, my soul T spoke 
As from its depth each feeling broke, 

And harshly I was spurned. 

XI. 

" My fond advance you made to mean 

A thing I could not act or tell — 
In mind or matter ne'er had seen, 

And then to me impossible. 
Young as I was, so trusting, free, 

I had not had a dream so foul. 
And though your tone was calm as death, 

I shook as at a demon's howl, 
And shrank as from his noisome breath: 

And still the wonder grew to be, 

That thoughts which monstrous seemed to me, 

To you should come so easily. 

XII. 

" Then pass^ed my conduct in review: — 
My fearless, thoughtless, girlish play, 



36 



As harmless as the breath I drew 
And gladsome as the beams of day, 

Under your kind construction grew 
A thing 1 sickened to survey, 

Which wrought but with designing shrewdness 

To hide a more disgusting lewdness 

Than — shudd'ring still — I could believe, 

Or any but a saint conceive. 

Had I been hardened, old or worn, 

This were a thing I might have borne, 

But as it was, each heedless word 

Struck deeply as a poisoned sword. 

1 could not speak; if I had tried, 

I should have merely choked and died : 

My heart was rising to my lip. 

And ready at a word to slip. 

And if an earthquake then had burst, 

1 had already felt the worst ; 

And I was bidden stand aloof. 

And sent away with such reproof. 

As only saints of saintliesfc garb 

Can hurl at sinners like a barb, 

Then turn away with inj ured air, 

To leave their fangs to rankle there. 

XIII 

" Astounded, t tunned, entranced with woe, 
I reached my home I know not how: 
For days I did not dare to deem 
It was not all a hideous dream ; 
And when at last I dared to weep 

I thought I should have died of grief; 
I seemed to fall from deep to deep 
Forever to despair 

Adown an endless steep, 
Till lay the fountain bare 

Of sighs and tears, 
And then I felt that stern relief, 



37 



The end of fears, 
"Which as I rose, within me wrought 
An utter recklessness of aug-ht : 
Mistrusting you, I doubted all, 
And stood in readiness to fall. 

XIV. 

" Thy father — yes, that sainted man, 

Whose common gait was holier than 

That of a sinner on his knees 

Or others' hidden charities — 

He brought a suit against my mother — 

He brought another and another, 

And she, bewildpred with, surprise, 

Saw melt away before her eyes. 

Houses, lands, tenements— as though 

They were but made of so much snow, 

That could not stand a summer sky. 

Or BO much shining piety. 

Though strange the suit — unknown the claim, 

At first she durst but feebly blame. 

Until the venom of my tongue 

Her mildness into^ combat stung. 

XV. 
I 

" Meshed as we were, it was but left 

To be more tardily bereft ; 

And though I entered into strife. 

As 'twere an element of life, 

T did but clasp the weapon's blade, 

And still a greater triumph made, 

For saintly son and father both, 

Who got our all however loth, 

And brought one to that blessed plight 

She might have given the widow's mite. 



38 
XVI. 

" The day drew nigh which must bereave 

My mother of her last resource, 
Of home, of hope, and only leave 

Us shame, and beggary, or worse. 
It was not much for me to brave 

The world I could already scorn. 
Although the refuge of the grave 

Seemed then to me as less forlorn : 
But, oh, my mother ! she was lost 

To all that could be said or done, 
Upon the waves of anguish tossed, 

With reason waiting to be gone. 
For all she lived upon — all, all 

She knew as comfort and delight, 
She must abandon now to fall 

To something worse than endless night. 
Hopes she had cherished for my sake. 

Appeared to her so many slain : 
Though words of comfort still I spake, 

They were unheeded, idle, vain ! 
Our friends were lost — if such we had — 

And no asylum yet appeared ; 
I dreamt I saw my mother mad, — 

And that she would be much I feared : 
Say she was weak — it may be so — ^ 

So are we all — but this I know. 
Her heart was fond as heart can be, 
And full as heaven of love , and all for me. 

XVII. 

" I thought — resolved — I fixed my soul 
Like fate to reach a certain goal : 
I never paused — I never shook. 
But straight to that my course I took ; 
And straight to what ? a haughty thing. 
Born high in Europe's royal list, 



39 



Who o'er this laud had taken wing 

To see how mortals can exist 
Without an emperor or king. 
It was a touch of my romance 
To run that wild and lofty chance, 
But had there been a miglitier one, 
As straight to him I sliould have gone : 
So I could see and speak and hear — 
ThouQ'h God himself— I did not fear — 

c 

For I was mad — though reason ne'er 
Did calmer, firmer aspect wear 
Than I who strove to conquer fate 
By pleading with that thing of state. 

XYIII. 

*' A prince by birtli but still a clown 
In spite of title, power and crown : 
For all the feelings he possessed 
The diamonds glittering on his breast, 
Might in a starry form of art 
Been worn by him in lieu of heart ; 
Yet he for novelty had gust 
For beauty too, must princely lust; 
And graciously was pleased to praise 
The blushes raised beneath his gaze, 
The charms that crimsoned at his mirth 
As purely fresh as mornings birth 
Amid heaven's golden haze. 

XIX. 

" 'Ah — I have naught to spare', said he, 
'For aught so cold as charity. 
Our charity let beggars move, 
But ladies overcome by love. 
Though I have seen the fairest fair, 
Thou'rt fairer yet that all I swear. 
And — though I have a bride of state — 



40 



Fitter to be my bosom mate ; 
Then make me more that ever blest, 
And grajit a lover's last request, 
And thou shalt never know the want 
Oi aught that wealth and power grant.' 

XX. 

" Lessoned so well in holiness, 

I might have guessed at royalty. 
But like a statue of distress — 

As poets say, a Niobe — 
There, there a weeping fool I stand 

Until he bursts the latent fire, 
Kisses my lips and clasps this hand, 

Which struck him to my feet in ire. 
Oh, rash as Satan ! there I stood. 

My fist imbrued with royal blood ! 

XXI. 

He scrambled to his feet in wrath. 

And rushed upon me with a sword ; 
I never swerved me from his path, 

But looked him full, nor spoke, nor stirred. 
His glance met mine — he paused — looked down 

I knew that I was monarch then. 
And never after feared his frown, 

Though feared it was by many men ; 
Though the contrivance was his own, 

Scarce durst he be with me alone. 

XXII. 

"Yet had the beast enough of spleen 

To hold his purpose faster still ; 
Perhaps had I but pliant been 

As pleasure brief had been his will ; 
In vain, when past my gust of rage. 



41 

I argued like a youthful sage ; 

1 found it was but waste aud folly. 

And went away most melancholy. 

XXIII. 

" I wept, I stormed — what could I do ? 

For nights already had I prayed, 
And hoped and trusted on and on. 
But every morn I was betrayed, 
And still the foe the battle won : 
No help on high and none below — 
Naught but this gulf to leap into. 

Still neared the time — 

Still glared the crime — 
It did not mend our case a whit 
To spurn the very thought of it. 
Still Fate his stern reversion held, 
And would not, could not be repelled. 

My mothers illness grew upon her; 
If thence she were removed with breath, 
I feared that something worse than death ;■ 

It was no time to talk of honor. 

***** 



XXIV. 

** Man seemed then to my eyes of flame, 
From king to peasent, all the same, 
And virtue but the flower of youth 
To wither in the blaze of truth — 
The tinsel garb of idleness, 
But not a sober working dress ; 
Yet how I hated all I thought ! 
And could I still have clung to auglrt, 
I would — I might — but Crod knows best, 
And know^s, and only knows the rest. 
Talk not of ragings on the sea, 



42 



Of elemental mastery — 

The strife of strifes was that in me. 

I cursed mankind and lust and pelf — 

I cursed existence and myself — 

What drink the dregs ? ay, choose the worst — 

And be — forever be — accursed ! 

* * >K * 

• * * * 

XXV. 

One hope was yet — I knew a man, 

A minister and puritan, 

Whose depth and breadth and height of mind 

Had raised him far above his kind 

Upon an intelle^^tual throne 

Before which reason's self bowed down : 

For though a priest his soul was free 

From any taint of bigotry, 

And durst all truths of science scan 

And march with progress in the van : 

A sectary unchained, — unchecked 

By bonds or boundaries of sect, — 

Who held the scales of Justice true, 

And gave e'en rival saints their due : 

Art, nature, learning, poesy, 

The heart of vast humanity, 

Its weakness, changes, sin, excess, — 

Its hopes, fears, griefs, strength, nobleness, 

Its sweetest, brightest, keenest, seuse. 

Graced his exhaustless eloquence. 

From darkest evil struck his wit 

A star-like truth where'er it hit, — 

A pungent, sparkling epigram. 

Which saved where stern reproof would damn: 

Cheering the faint in doing good, 

Feeding them with Christ's flesh and blood, 

In gracious puissance he stood 

A champion prompt at mercy's call 

To plead, pray, live or die for all. 



4:J 
XXVI. 

" To him T hied and almost sank 

In awe and worship at his feet; 
For what were power or wealth or rank 

To him who sat in Christ's own seat? 
I found him gentle as the breeze 

Heaven wafts to raise the drooping flower; 
My heart which longed to burst for ease 

Poured out to him like summer showier. 
He met me as a father meets 

The sorrow of his only chiTd, — 
Not with a gush of tender sweets 

But words of solace calm and mild. 

XXYIT. 

*' 'Daughter', he said, be comforted; 
Christ hath your footsteps hither led; 

The wolves have held you long in chase ; 
But every tear your eye hath shed, 
And every drop your heart hath bled 
Is wafted to the throne of grace 
As pearl or ruby finding place 
Tn that eternal coronet 
Which glory on your brow shall set 

To crown you victor in the race. 
I'll seek your haughty enemy 
And conquer his hostility ; 
What e'er the labor or the cost, 
Your trust in me shall not be lost : 
But let me hope that my success, — 
Which God alone can give and bless, — 
Will teach your faith with stronger wing 
To soar to heaven's Lord and King, 
And sanctify your suffering : 
Can love that faints — can faith that scorns 
To bear the cross and tread the thorns 
Eeceive the prize the heavens award 



44 



The fellow martyrs of the Lord ? 

You have been tried, but have you stood 

As firmly — faithfully as should 

The child our Heavenly Father loves 

And therefore chastens and reproves ? 

Still I'll not chide — your heart is sore, 

But, daughter, go, and doubt no more, 

XXYIII. 

" I went away in ecstasy, — 

The tears I shed were all delight, 
Both for the death of misery 
And birth of solace infinite: 
A life within my being woke, 
A light upon my spirit broke. 
Which flung the gates of heaven apart 
And poured its sweetness on my heart : 
Oh, wbat a change of will and thought — 
Oh, what a miracle was wrougnt 
Upon my mountain of distress . 
By those few words of gentleness, 
Besistless with angelic calm, 
Which fell from that divine like balm ! 
Again I was a trustful child — 
Again to Mercy reconciled ; 
For I had found a holy guide 
To whom I could my soul confide, 
Who saved it from the snares of men 
And led it up to God again. 

XXIX. 

" With gratitude I was aflame 
When to my humble home he came 
With art which seemed all innocence 
Overcoming all my diflidence, 
Drawing my inmost spirit forth 
To show its latent warmth and worth, — • 



45 



And poured the riches of his mind 
Into our intercourse refined, 
Giving my soul tho grandest scope, 
Filling it with the noblest hope, — 
With thoughts sublime and self respect 
To match his godlike intellect, 
Till grew my mental vision dim 
To any man or god save him. 

XXX. 

" He did not dogmatize or preach, 

But as an equal treated me ; 
I seemed to catch the gift of speech. 

In our communion pure and free, 
And by his cheer and praises fired, 
I felt and spoke like one inspired. 
For my opinion and advice 
On points aesthetically nice. 
Where woman's taste and senses fine 
The public sentiment divine, 
He watched to see my spirit stirred 
And hung upon my lightest word. 
Oh, I was in my happiest mood, 
When by his mind's great fount I stood, 
To mark it rise and gush and flow. 
Long ere o'er spreading plains below — 
To drink its freshness ere it glacis 
The thirsting, waiting myriads — 
To taste the firstlings of his pen 
Before they feed some million fellow men. 

XXXI. 

" And thus those hours of gladness flew. 
And thus our souls united grew. 
E'en while we knelt together there 
To melt and blend our hearts in prayer ; 
And much he seemed with sorrow bowed 



46 



When he at last with tears avowed 

Of humankind he found in me 

Alone his true affinity. 

' The world,' he said, ' is gone astray, 

And heaven itself in disarray : 

So much confusion is in fate 

Some meet too soon and some too late : 

AVe know we should have met before ; 

But have we only to deplore V 

Emerging from the blinding night, 

Should we not set its errors right ? 

However late 'tis always meet 

To break the fetters of deceit, — 

To cast the idol falsehood down 

And live to truth and love alone. 

Should we, — who feel in every line 

Traced on our minds by hand divine, — 

In all we love, in all we hate, — 

Tn every relish delicate, — 

In every sense and sentiment 

Of grace and virtue Heaven hath lent 

Which makes our souls so affluent. 

That we, as nature's human span, 

Were wedded when our life began, — 

Shall we distrust — shall we deny 

What God's own work doth testify 

A thousand ways, that you and I 

Like heat and radiance in the sun 

Were made and destined to be one ? 

What Heaven to do hath shown the will, 

Is it not righteous to fulfill ? 

Is it not impious to withstand 

The impulse given by God's own hand ? ' " 

XXXII. 

" The reverend sophist must have deemed 
Me duller than at first I seemed 
To give him so much pains to lift 



47 



The film which veiled his subtile drift, 
For deep in love with my ideal, 
I had no vision for the real, 
But fond and resolute to paint 
Him still the pure and perfect saint, 
I clung to him by that abyss 
And gave him, child -like, kiss for kiss. 
While thus he murmured, ' Love's sweet soul 
A body needs to make it whole : 
Love only lives when it hath found 
What it can put its arms around : 
It pines to death if we still cheat 
Its longing thus to be complete : 
Say that it feeds on sweet and fair, 
It cannot live and walk on air : 
Althouo:h like angel from the skies, 
Where'er love comes it purifies, 
And frees from selfishness and lust. 
It only sanctifies the dust 
When sense all sense of flesh foregoes. 
And soul in soul in sweetness flows 
In organs bodily perchance, 
But heedless of them as in trance ; 
For though so sweet and high and good, 
Love must at times have human food: 
That is not day which ends at morn, 
Nor child which dies ere it is born; 
Nor purity which is not sure 
That to the pure all things are pure; 
Nor love which crossed by frost or fate, 
Ne'er dares to reach its ultimate : 
Still all the taint of flesh and clay 
Is burned by love and heaven away ; 
Like sacramental bread and wine 
It grows all sacred and divine ; 
In freedom must the soul advance. 
Believing that the ordinance, 
To kiss, to clasp and bliss awake, 



48 

From Eden comes without a break. 
E,ise to the Holy Virgin's state, 
And be not half regenerate, 
But in each act immaculate ! 
Let purity show no alloy 
Even in the deed and joy of joy.' 

XXXIII. 

" Shall I pause here or still profane 

God's speech in this satanic vein ? 

Was it not worse than sacrilege 

A maiden's heart to thus besiege 

With lust's delusive saintly fiction, 

Begun with prayer and closed with benediction ? 

XXXIV. 

" More ruthful are the dogs of war 
Than this grand pulpit orator : 
They seek alone the blood to spill 
And not eternally to kill : 
Not in his most triumphant hour 
Had Satan such audacious power 
To blast sweet virtue in the sight 
Of angels watching from the height, 
Who saw a saint make me his prey 
And hurled no bolt to save or slay, — 
Who saw my chastity expire, 
Not slain by lust but heaven's own fire. 

XXXV. 

*' I know for this no parallel 
But one I saw and that I'll tell. 

4: * * * * 

A bird perched on a stately tree 

With fruit of golden ripeness hung, 
And from the leaves looked forth to see 



49 



The stranger that so sweetly sung, 
Two ruby eyes, aflame and lit 
With spirit from the lowest pit, 
And yet the songster's look they set 
As if it had a seraph met : 
It could do nought but gaze and gaze, 
And grow more helpless in amaze, 
Still fluttering nearer as those eyes 
Surround themselves with rainbow dyes : 
Faintly at first the circles spread. 
Like halo round a saintly head ; 
With more intense and dazzling hue 
At last they burned in red and blue — 
In rings of crimson, gold and green 
And shooting rays of silver sheen, 
Till the poor bird, so transport tied, 
Save this strange glory, naught espied. 
The living colors winked and danced 
Until the gazer was entranced, 
Like those who look through heaven's gate 
And eagerly their turn await 

To pass to bliss. 
Those eyes more kindness still illumes; 
Those glories glow like angel plumes ; 
They nod, smile, beckon, almost say, 
Come into heaven while you may : 

Nor longer does the trembler pause : 
Into the rainbow arch she falls : 
What sound is that my heart appals ? 

A quick sharp hiss — 
A flutter — scream — A snap — 
The bird is in the serpent's trap — 
Fast in his forked jaws. 

XXXVI. 

" The hardest blow was yet to fall ; — 

The thought that he was still sincere. 
And that he loved me more than all, 



50 



Than even God, was very dear ; 
But God had vengeance swift in store ; 

Too soon I found I was but one 
Among a still deluded score 

My priestly lover had undone. 
Oh, if I could have then gone mad, 

It would have been a blessed gain, 
But Heaven for me no mercy had, 

And still I lived and still was sane ; 
At least I knew in my despair 

And agony too keen and deep 
To leave me fear or hope or care, 

That I was sinking down a steep. 
Foul, hideous, bottomless and black, 
From which a fiend might well draw back: 
Down, down I sank, at every grade, 
Losing the soul that God had made, 
Until I grew what I am now, — 
A heartless thing with shameless brow." 



THE FEisria?EnNrT. 

PART THIRD. 



As down the side of rocky steep 

Dashes tho stream in headlong chase, 

Her speech had poured but now to weep, 
She slackened its tumultuous race; 

But still the current, like a river, 

Plowed strong and deep and dangerous as ever. 

IT. 

*' Once fairly plunged within the tide, 
I laid all squeamishness aside, 
And gave to pleasure not a half. 
But all my life and soul to quaff — 
Drown'd every hope and care and fear, — 
Clasped rapture to my soul so near 
As one they beat — 
All things forbidden, 
Because so dangerously dear ; 

My bosom's fullness, passion's heat — 
All treasures delicately hidden. 

To most lascivious conceit 
I gave and took with that good will 
With which fond mother's bless and foemen kill. 

III. 

** To make the present pay the cost 
Of that bright future I had lost, 



bl 



I let no terror stifle 
The sweetness of a moment's time. 
Or hinder one delicious crime, 

Or leave for hell to rifle 
A bloom of form, a mental flower 
Or aught that passion might devour, 

Or empty of its honeyed store : 
But still to feed my hungry flame 
Eecalled my virtue and my shame, 

And had them murdered o'er and o'er, 
And when my gust had perished quite, 
Held on to them in very spite. 



lY. 



*.' For hell contains no greater lie 

Than human sensuality. 

Let flesh and fleshly senses bound it — 

No mockery of truth surround it — 

Standing alone, with nothing lent 

By fallacy or sentiment — 

No shifting wit, like glancing elf — 

No semblance aping Virtue's self — 

But caught, without disguise or dress^ 

In all its naked hideousness — 

Then earthly worms and wallowing swine, 

And things that live on filth and slime, 

Contrasted ^th that which I mean, 

Would seem all holy, pure and clean ; 

And eyes undazzled by the sun, 

A second sight of that would shun 

As if it could not reach the sight 

Except on rays of poisoned light. 

V. 

" I was supported by my spleen 
Against the sanctified — 
Blasted by them as I had been, 



53 



My malice never died. 
I sought the holiest of the crew, 
And crushed, them all as I have you. 
Oh ! what a bliss it was to hate — 
And drag them to a harlot's fate ; 
'i o mark the struggle of their pride — 

Their slippery virtue sliding fast; 
To see them stem the fatal tide, 

And sink into the snare at last ; 
To work their passion to its height, 

Then burst into a canting speech. 
As though T were a saint of light, 

Of whom the Holy Scriptures teach ; 
To taunt each with his cruelty, 

After the all I would have given, 
To hold his stern monopoly, 

And let me to the pit be driven ; 
To bid him share my misery. 

Or let me share with him his heaven ; 
But when I marked his passion cool. 

And cool his burning lust of flesh. 
Again with him to play the fool. 

And charm both into life afresh ; 
Then with wild laughter on my tongue, 

And wilder lightning in my eyes. 
And heart which like sweet cymbals sung, 

To clasp the Samson shorn, 
I stooped to even to despise — 

Then cast him from me with a scorn 
So high, so mad and so delighted. 
That like a midnight ghost it frighted 
Into the pallor of a child benighted 
The wretch forlorn. 



VI. 

" But e'en such joy was not exempt 
From what makes pleasure pall : 



54 



Saints sank with me beneath contempt, 

And ceased to move my gall ; 
There lived but one I cared to rneet, 
And he lies blasted at my feet. 

yii. 

'' So long as I had one to nourish, 

To love and care for and deceive, 
I let my bloom like roses flourish — 

I let my mother still believe 
I was a pure and happy thing- 
As ever Heaven's gentle wing 
Bore Irom the earth in purity 
Of guilelessness and infancy ; 
But when I lost her, I was lost 

In hopeless, rayless nothingness. 
And since that hour my path is crossed 

By neither gladness nor distress — 
Except that gleam which burst despair 
To see your saintship grovelling there. 

VIII. 

" Tis past and now I sicken more, 

And loathe myself more utterly, 
That I am stricken to the core, 

Made nothing for a wretch like thee. 
The desert may be barrenness. 

And silent, solitary, dark — 
The rock and tempest pitiless 

To souls that tremble in the bark — 
The polar hills be cold and drear — 

But all these objects seeyn to be, 
Is feeling and reality, 
Changeless, hopeless, endless — here I 

IX. 

" It haunts me ever ! might I hide 
Under a hill of vipers wreathed, 



55 



Or sink beneath a poisonous tide, 

Or into graves where death is breathed, 
It were delight for one short hour 
To 'scape beyond the tyrant power 
Which pauses not for shriek on shriek, 
But ever gnaws with vulture beak. 



^' What lust hath made me, tongue of men 

Or angels cannot tell ; 
But sink me to earth's deepest den, 

Lend me the speech of hell. 
And I'll describe the heart's condition. 
Sick of blunted repetition — 

When every shred 

01' life is wed 
To Death, and buried far below the dead, 

XL 

" Thou knowest not who comes by night — 

Ay, night by night, to me alone — 
Invisible his form and flight, 

Except to me who am his own — 
His victim, pleasure, slave and bride — 

My brain throbs— head whirls— shadows swim- 
Still, still it is my boast and pride 

I yielded but to one save him — 
For though I hurl thee o er the brink, 
I scorn with sucli as thee to sink. 
Though I am ruined — who did blast? 
Earth's peerless first— Hell's king at last ? 
My tongue grows rigid, chill and weak 
To warn — of this I must not speak. 



XII. 



" I had a dream and but a dream, 
The faintest promise of the dawn, 



56 



Illusive as a meteor gleam, 

As suddenly revealed and gone; 
But, while it lasted, beautiful 

As blessings rendered for a curse — 
(The sweetest flower angel's cull 

In ranging through tiie universe,) 
And yet the human form it wore 

Of simple grace and manly mien, 
And as I looked and looked the more, 

Like love itself, was lovlier seen. 
His glance was like the rays of heaven 

Lighting some lonely prisoner's cell— 
His smile was sweet as pardon given 

To sinner at the gates of hell — 
Sun curls his brow a halo weaved 

In fatherly sublimity — 
Pity his mighty bosom heaved 

As fondest mother's lovingly, 
And little children came to him, 

And looked into his heavenly eyes, 
And as he blessed them somewhat dim 

Seemed the proud lustre of the skies ; 
The sick, the deaf, the blind, the lame, 

The leper, lunatic and such 
Poor heirs of ills and faith as came 

Were all recovered at his touch. — 
Lovely, majestic and divine, 

Mercy and might co-equal here. 
Yet these were merely as a sign 

Of that incomparably dear — 
Of pardon rendered to the wretch 

Sunken in guilt almost to me, 
With scarce the heart a sigh to fetch, 

And steeped to lips in poverty — 
Of truth and love divinely full. 

As is the sun of light and heat — 
Mercy and grace ineffable, 

And blessings as God's kisses sweet ; 
And — yes — I saw it — ^yes, I swear 



57 



A creature like myself I saw, 
As weak, as Avicked and as fair. 

Condemned by an o'er-righteous law, 
Waiting the shower of piteous stones, 

With hair disheyelled, burning cheeks, 
And heart which like sick madness moans, 

And e'en in death a shelter seeks, 
From shame and Him to whom they drag her, 

The Son immaculate of God, 
Whose words will murder like a dagger — 

Like many deaths his judgment rod : 
But no ! Oh son of God ! had I 

A thousand lives I'd give them thee. 
Though they were pure, delighted, high, 

As mine is sunk in misery ! 
He saved her from the saints I say, — 

( Oh that I only durst adore ! ) 
He drove them from their helpless prey, 

And bade her go and sin no more. 

XIII. 

" And she escaped, but he did not — 
The saints were on his track : 

I knew that they would have his blood — 
They stretched him on the rack, 
And made him share the common lot 

Of all the mercifully good. 
But 'tis not this I most lament — 

Death which to others looks so grim. 
Was far the loveliest visitant 

Ever received on earth by him ; 
But here I hold that he is wronged, 

Than even by death more cruelly — 
Who to the sinner once belonged 

Is now become the property 
Of his old murderers — the men 
Unchanged, except in name, since then, 

The modern Scribe and Pharisee : 



58 



And we have lost him — vainly rave 
The very souls he came to save — 
Unless this creed or that they swallow, 
And slavishly its ritual follow. 
Who slew him in the flesh would fain 
His spirit starve in icy chain,-— 
Let those he died for perish still, 
And both thus kill and kill and kill ! 

XIV. 

*' The pompous panoply, 
The tithing, ritual, temple, priest, 

The vast respect ability, 
And learned ease. 
Cold sacrament, and long-graced feast, 

The formal way and settled diction, 
The hum-drum orthodoxy— these, 
For doctrines simple, living, free. 
And purer everlastingly- - 

These, as before the crucifixion, 
These shroud the Saviour fiom our view, 
And make him seem as one of you, 
In ostentation which to me 
Appears a solemn mockery 
Of my own empty vanity. 

XV. 

" Are all men numbered in your pack ? 

Heart hath to spirit whispered so, 
But let your soul the unction lack, 

I tell you, villain, no ! no ! no I 
Though you have done your very best, 

Though you hav6 compassed sea and land, 
Though you have prayed so many dead, 

You have not been completely blest ; 
There still are some for whom He bled, 

Who in high places ne'er have stood ; 



59 



Who do not know that they are good — 
Who get from Him their daily bread, 
And get it only at his hand ! 

xyr. 

'* The forms they use the heart decides, 

As does the will the body's motion. 
And all their doctrines love prescribes, 

Which are but love and love's devotion ; 
Those mysteries which saints condemn 
To night are clear as day to them. 
Albeit I am forced to say 
They still are construed love's own way : 
But then such errors are a sin 
E'en angels are detected in ; 
And were they not allowed to see 
And walk by the light of charity. 
They would be backward as the blind. 
And left bj^ saints far, far behind ; 
The more they liave of righteousness, 
The less they think that they possess — 
The nearer heaven they ascend, 
The less to saintship they pretend, 
And though they more profoiiudly see 
And own their own iniquity, 
To others' weakness they grow blind, 
Or if not so, exceeding kind. 
As godly |traise is their distress, 
Their noblest work is valueless 
For purposes of holiness, 
And brows with laurel seldom wreathes : 

In doing good they love and woo it, 
And mightiest efforts seem to please — 

The heart and thought and will pursue it 
And make the merit of their ease 
But as the breath young Hebe breathes : 

They do and hardly know they do it. 
Faulty they are and full of woe, 



60 



Or else T should not love them so ; 
All faultless ones save One I hate, 
And shall do to the end of fate. 
As contrite as the wretch who rails 
Are they — and there resemblance fails. 
Though rich in grace, their buoyant might 
Would break beneath my spirit's plight 
And sins that beggar Mercy quite ; 
But had I known them ere 1 fell. 
As I do now, all had been well. 

XVII. 

" But here I stand amidst a glitter 

Of luxury, and wealth, and taste, 
For millionaire or monarch fitter 

But small to what I well might waste, — 
A form, stripped as it is, and bare, 

Without a jewel or a gem — 
One which a queen to^be as fair. 

Would gladly give her diadem. 
I do not boast — for such a word 
From royal lips my ears have heard : 
A queen was kneeling at my feet, 

Praying that some one might not die — 
Say, was not Beauty's triumph sweet ? 

Oh, was not Beauty's triumph high ? 
And so it proved that very hour — 
Or life or death was in my power. 

XYIII. 

" And yet there is no form or state 
So crushed as mine and desolate : 
To ruined towers nature springs 
And o'er each rent her verdure flings ^ 
O'er cities fallen flowers blow. 
And cattle feed and harvests grow ; 
O'er vessels sunken sing the waves — 



61 



The drown'd repose in coral caves — 
And lilies spring from earthly graves, 
And deserts, as the Scripture shows, 
Shall bud and blossom as the rose ; 
But I must languish to the last, 
And when the gates of death are passed. 

An endless death begin. 
Few turns has Time before he must 
Resolve this beauty iato dust, 
And I b<^come a shrieking thing 
For flames to seize and torture wring. 



So let it be — it is but just 

And equal to my. sin. 
T do not fear but I can bear, 
For I am steadfast in despair : 
And be the demons wise enough, 
They soon will learn to stand aloof, 
And not against themselves engage 
My spirit's might and passion's rage, 
But let these on each other turn, 
And than the heart of heli more fiercely burn, 

XIX. 

** My tale is told, my doom is cast. 

And now no more to me remains, 
Before I breathe my very last. 

Except to thank you for the pains 
Which you and yours for two have taken 
Who even were of Heaven forsaken: 
Few be my words, and quick your ear — 
For good or ill — arise ! and hear ! " 

XX. 

He never rose, but lay as still 
As lost to either good or ill, 



62 



Though shudders, like the dying thrill • 

Of wretches hopeless and accursed, 

Had lately answered every burst 

Of anguish, hatred, scorn and ire, 

Uttered by her like liquid fire. 

All prone, with visage turned away, ■ 

Hands stiffly clasped, so still he lay. 

That as she looked a sudden doubt 

Eled like a fear her soul throughout : 

She paused — looked closer — nothing stirred 

She spoke again — he never heard : 

She shook him slightly — he was cold : 

She turned his visage — to behold 

What filled her as the thundea* dashes — 

A face which wore the hue of ashes ! 

XXI. 

A gleam of hope her strength restored : 
She hurried to the gorgeous board, 

And rushed to him with water — 
She laved his temples and his wrists; 
She chafied his feet and rigid fists. 

And all that art had taught her. 
Or in her past as help availed, 
She tried and tried and never quailed 
Till she had failed and failed and failed — 
Her perfumed waters and her scents, 
Seemed damn'd by Heaven to her intents — 
All she had done was done in vain, — 
And he could never live again. 

XXII. 

" 1 thought T knew the worst distress, 

But now I am a murderess ! 

I did not care to live before — 

I will not live a moment more. 

In life and death our fates are crossed, 



63 



For him I loved and hated most — 
Sighed first for him and latest sigh, 
And now upon his bosom die." 

XXIII. 

It long had been her fatal notion 

To keep a poison in a cup ; 
From secret place she reached the potion, 

With desperate hand and drank it up. 
She scarce her victim's side could gain 

To sink — to clasp — with mute caress — 
The poison mounted to her brain 

And robbed her of all consciousness. 



Awhile she had oblivious lain. 
When, lo ! she seemed to live again, 
And in her ear a voice resounded 
To which her heart of hearts rebounded, 
She knew it well — it breathed her name : 
She rose and looked — it was the same — 
The glory of her brightest dream : 
She scarce forebore a joyous scream, 
And on her knees her form she flung, 
And to His feet with kisses clung — 

As Magdalene clung of yore, — 
She smothered with her golden curls — 
Drowned with her eyelids' liquid pearls 

The holiest feet that earth ere bore, 
Until the gracious figure stooped. 
And raised her like a flower that drooped. 
But what He said no pen can write — 

Wisdom and sweetness interwove, 
Each word was as the birth of light 

And fonder than the heart of love ; 
And she was melted like a wave, 
And heart and spirit to Him gave — 
All, all her inmost soul resigned, 
And there His Holy Ghost enshrined ! 



64 

xxiv. 

From her unto the corse He went, 

And by its listless hand He took it ; 
Then life through every vein was sent, 

And all its ashiness forsook it ; 
And at His word it stood erect, 

Fuller of freshness than of old, 
As Adam in God's likeness decked, 

Just bursting from his Maker's mould : 
It gazed at Him and her who knelt 

In sweet and speechless ecstasy, 
And though it thought it saw and felt, 

Yet doubted all most dreamily : 
But what was this to that surprise, 
When both beheld their God arise 
Through air and roof, and stars and skies, 
Till far beyond the realms of space I 
The two left standing face to face, 
Saw all its wonted look resume 
Within that aloaost hallowed room: 
Both long a holy silence kept 
While gratitude and gladness wept ; 
They felt to live a sacred dread, 
For both were risen from the dead. 

XXV. 

She wakes I — alas ! 'twas phantasy — 

A feverish dream with hope at play — 
For standing by her side are three, 
And earthly as herself are they : 
It fills their souls with glad surprise 
To see her ope her azure eyes, 
Although it is a doubtful gain 
To come back to this world of pain. 
And she surveys them with a look 
Which shows she scarce that cheat can brook 
But angrier still would be her glance 



65 



Had she o'erheard the priest advance 
These oommeats on her death-Uke trance : — 
'* Like marble image in old Rome, 

Of angel winging courts on high, 
Her spirit risen to bliss and home 

Left beauty too divine to die: 
Oh, she is blest if she hath rest, 
For here she nursed a dismal guest, 
And hugged the horror to her breast 
That nightly she was forced to sleep 
With the archangel of the deep. 
Mere madness all ! and falser still 
The dream that I e'er wrought her ill. 
If Satan were all innocent 
As I am, even of intent 
To soil her chasteness, then should grace 
Eestore him to his primal place : 
And I believe, as I confide 
In Him who for the contrite died, 
That she is pure as heavenly light, 
Or those who walk with God in white. 
Not Job himself was ever tried, 
Nor e'en by Satan so belied 
As I by those whom I but live 
To aid and save and blessing give. 
It is my cross that such as she 
Are slaves to gui'ieless phantasy, 
Which in the salient freaks it takes 
Me first a god and then the devil makes." 

XXVI. 

He stopped to weep. — When back had flown 

Her soul from dreamland, in a tone 

As gentle as a turtle's moan, — 

Grasping what held the antidote 

With timely skill forced down her throat, — 

Upbraiding her with her essay 

To steal earth's loveliest flower away — 



66 



" Peace I peace ! " he said. " The night shall pass, 

And joy come with the morning, 
As after storm the tender grass 

Springs up for garth's adoi*ning. 
Thy wrongs, thy griefs my eyes still wet : 
Is there no balm in Gilead yet ? 
Alone the trusting, erring feet 
Reach Love and Mercy's judgment seat : 
Thou hast thy guilt, thy cross to bear ; 
And such alone are Jesus' care. 
He deigns to call the chui-ch his bride, ; 

With scarlet sins so deeply dyed : 
Rf^pent ! return 1 let mercy's flow 
Wash all my sins as white as snow. 

Nor longer be thy walk 
On red hot plough shares, bearing clay ; 

Nor longer be thy talk 
A section of the judgment day. 



Here waits a youth whose hope of bliss 

Is but to wed and make you hig : 

You know him noble, brave and pure — 

His love and constancy so sure 

That both will unto death endure — 

Then make ypur mutual happiness secure" — 

XXVII. 

While at its full and oiliest run, 
Before its end, the speech was done; 

For prophet of antiquity. 
When tempted by the evil one, 
Ne'er spurned a smooth iniquity 
With half the quick and scornful force 
With which she cast aside 
In her supernal pride 
The honeyed tempting of this bland discourse. 
Like an offended queen she said 



67 



" I am no vampire ; and to wed 

Or let this living corse be fed 

Upon a life fresli, true and brave, 

To cheat awhile the yawning grave, 

I scorn- —as I should scorn to be 

The hypocrite who ruined me. 

Break but the lily film which hides 

The wreck of sin and passion's tides, 

And you shall find each blasted sense 

As deadly as a pestilence- -- 

A breast where lurk a thousand asps, 

He pines who locks--he dies who clasps. 

xxYiir. 

*' You calmly ask me to return 

To my firs purity of soul, 
As if the past I could unlearn 

Or make life's moments backward roll ; 
The waters creeping o "er the ooze, 

Foul with decay and reptile slime 
Glide onward for they cannot choose, 

Back to their fountain head t ) climb ; 
Like them I must in horror flow, 

Hating the channel for me cast. 
And lower sink and blacker grow, 

Till lost in ocean — death — at last. 

XXIX. 

** There gi'ows but in terrestrial fields 

A joy for which the angels sigh, 
Which richer fruit immortal yields 

Than all the services on high — 

A wedlock of the heart and liund,- 
Pure as Spring's sun-beams and as warm 

With life and love's creative tide ; 
In calm and more in darkest storm, 

A bliss and comfort sanctified. 



68 



Oh, what a world woos its command^ 
Tn wliich all good and grace may grow, 
And sweet affection's flowers blow, 
And manliness its grandeur show 
In power to gnide, ])ratect and bless 
With wealth of sacred tenderness 
From love's pure fountain fathomless ! 
***** 
***** 

You ask me to become a bride — 

You seek with mine a life to blend, 
As if my beauty did not hide 

A leprosy death cannot end : 
The glance which o'er my spirit flies 

To see if love may yet alight 
Where some green spot of freshness lies 

Amid sin's universal blight, 
Still finds alone in that dead sea 
Mooring for hate, remorse and misery. 

XXX. 

" I shall not curse thee, preacher mine, 
Nor brand thee — ' whited sepulchre,* 
Thou image of my spirit's shrine 

Which fell and crushed its worshipper : 
Mine is the victim's crime and fate ; 

My heart hath bled and e'er must bleed ; 
But still I would not change my state 

With any model of thy creed. 
That creed most tenderly hath cared 

For souls by sin and sorrow rent, 
And specially a place prepared 

For their eternal punishment : 
However dire that home may prove, — 

Whate'er its fiery tortures be, 
I choose it myriad times above 

Thy heaven of hypocrisy. 
Thy heart so soft would fain adore 



69 



Old doctrine much but mercy more : 
K I my soul in hate immerse, 
'Tis not at thee I dart my curse, 
But at thy system, creed and cloth 
Which made us fools and victims both. 

* * * ^ 

* # * ♦ 



XXXl. 

" Bind me in adamantine chains, 

Drown me in seas of sulphur blue, 
Then ask thy soul what hell remains 

For thee a thousand times more due. 
Weeping as usual ! I have fears 

That even should'st thou death desire, 
Hell would not have thee, lest thy tears 

Should quench its everlasting fires. 
Thou art the victim of thy faith, 
And 1, alas ! of faith in thee : 
Thou still art bound in living death. 

But I again am frank and free. 
1 pity thee and scorn the creed 

To which thou art enslaved and wed ; 
Thou canst not cramp thy sensual need 

Into that strait I'rocrustean bed : 
Yet that 'tis heaven there to be 

Thou preachest with thy potent art, 
While still thou writh'st in agony, 

And giv'st the lie to thine own heart ; 
What lower hell than thine is known ? 
What viler deep for crime and pelf ? 
Still staunch is Satan to his own — 

Thou false to all— e'en to thyself : 
A scorpion swarm thy bosom stings, 

Yet thou dost smile and preacli and pray ; 
Of hypocrites the king of kings. 

What force can break thy pious sway ? 



70 
XXXIT. 

'' As model of their sanctity 

And of their secret love of sin, 
Thou hast to holy hearts the key, 

And victory must ever win : 
But yet beware of him whose aim 

To hurl thee from thy lofty seat 
Is fixed to win immortal fame, 

'For he is equal to the feat, 
He watches, plots and lies in wait, 
And makes his yielding wife his bait: 
Although from many frailties free, 
Thou mak'st a poor St. Anthony, 
And what must come I can foresee: 
A storm is rising, and the shock 
Will shake thy church upon its rock, 
Fill every pious mind with gloom, 
And scandalize all Christendom. 

XXXIIT. 

" Yet why shouldst thou the issue fear? 

The sympathy of all is thine ; 
Of every sainHy sinner here 

Thou art the pioneer divine ; 
If into heaven thou findest way, 
There is good hope for such as they : 
And they believe thou canst not fail 
But with St. Peter wilt prevail ; 
For did they not thy ready wit 
Against a mighty nation pit 
To singly beard as thou didst then 
The British Lion in his den. 
And tame the monster's rampant will 
To fawn where he had roared to kill ? 
And if St. Peter prove averse, 
In his old mood to swear and curse, 
Thy wit and humor may assuage 



71 

And turn his apostolic rage 

Into a gracious disposition 

To Q-ive all thine a free admission. 

XXXIV. 

^* And when the ordeal conies at last, 

And scandal clouds burst on thy head, 
Thy enemies who seek to blast, 

Will suffer ruin in thy stead, 
For all thy saints will testify, 

The envious charges false to prove, 
And show how vile conspiracy 

Was fostered by thy boundless love. 
And should thy counsel, wise indeed. 

But scorn all tricks and alibi, 
And let thee with the jury plead 

With moving tor.es and tearful eye, 
I would not answer for a soul 

In jury box, or bench, or bar, 
Though in the plaintiff's counsel roll. 

Who listened to the melting war 
Of wit and sadneGs in thy style 

With which thou didst my honor woo, 
And e'er this nation's heart beguile, 

And haughty dame Britannia's, too. 



Lo ! half mankind with scandal fed 
Devour it as their daily bread ; 
And as the Eoman circus joyed 
To see the bravest forms destroyed, 
Light sparkles here from countless eyes, 
As each great reputation dies ! — 

The vision rises 

With quick surprises: 
The devil fails not aid to bring, — 
Two witnesses opposed to thee, 
W^hose idiot lies make the whole thing, 



72 



From first to last, seem perjury. 
I see thy foes do but prepare 

Fresh glories for thy peerless star, — 
Tliat iu thy sin the hosts that share 

Will honor thy triumphal car — 
Ay, draw it with a wild ac^^la-im, 
And rend the heaven's with thy name, 
Thou prophet, racy of the sod, 
America's high priest and demigod I 

XXXV. 

"Go on in triumph ! I have done 

With all the vanity of life ; 
For were earth's queenship to be won, 

I have no spirit for the strife. 
I go — but go alone — where Death 

Shrinks from his loathsome bride Disease, 
Who leaves her victim-^ only breath 

For pains and groans and lack of ease. 
With them 111 spend my life and health 

Unto the last of their amount, 
And add my skill, strength, youth and health 

To swell the pitiful account ; — 
A fraction but however small. 

Yet some relief to human ill; 
To show I still deplore mj fall. 

And have for good at least the will ; 
And when amid the sick and crazed, 

I sink with weariness and woe. 
Heart-faint, despairing and amazed 

At my small helpfulness below, 
ril think of thee — raised over all, 

A moral sun to soul and sense, 
With honeyed tongue and heart of gall,, 

Diffusing life in eloquence, — 
Adored by millions as a saint, 

While consciously a pious lie,. 
And using virtues as a paint 



73 



To hide thy arch-hypocrisy ; 
I'll pity thee and thy remorse 
More than the lazars I shall nurse, 
Content to be the thing I am, 

A wretch indeed, but not a sham ! 

* * * * 

# * * * 

" Farewell ! " she cried, " We meet no more 
And vanished through a secret door. 

XXXVI. 

She vanished and no more was seen 
By those who knew what she had been : 
Her riches changed in form by sale, 
Left not a vestige of the trail 
Of that wild star whose lustre lent 
Strange beauty to our firmament, 
Like light from heaven's highest steep. 
And dangerous sparkling from the deep. 
Blent in a charm, ne'er felt before, 
And vanished now for evermore. 



I 55 






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